Like Poetry
by Somnium.0
Summary: Buffy and Angelus meet while she is patrolling soon after he's lost his soul; she is torn and he sees a new challenge in her. Darkfic, dub-con, has some depth but mostly PWP. Enjoy


He thinks her tears might just be her best feature right now. Swelling like warm, liquid jewels before those clear blue eyes. She holds herself well despite this, and he loves a strong girl. He's caught her off guard during her routine patrolling, and she barely shows how upset she is. Dru had been a treat in her time, Angelus thinks, but here he had a Slayer. The girl had had so much in common with him before - he could touch everyone around her and she would feel responsible for it all. He hadn't had such a fun opportunity in such a long time. She was the Slayer, and she may even win in a fight, but those misty eyes betrayed her every time, no matter how much she might wish she could simply dust him. Perfect.

Buffy tries to look angry. That stupid, smug smirk _makes_ her angry. But it makes her feel distraught at the same time, and the tears she has to blink away from her eyes aren't from sadness so much as they are from pure frustration and confusion. Standing before her is the same man who had had a soul - a pure one, a good one. Someone she had given herself to absolutely. How could she imagine him as this different person now, standing there in Angel's body? Angel, Angelus. Two different people that were one in the same. He looks like Angel - Strong, tall, attractive. He could make her feel that familiar attracted heat just as much as he could make her blood run hot with anger, and she bets he knows it. Yet here he stands, Angelus, knowing everything that Angel had and intending to use every bit of it with the cruelest intentions.  
The conflict in her eyes is crystal-clear to him. He can read the slim girl like a book - After all, she had shared her life, her mind, and his bed. Hate, sadness, betrayal, a little lust strewn in. All displayed to him in this pretty little blond-haired and blue-eyed package.  
She doesn't want him there. She's already asked him what he wants, and like every other time, he has no good answer. If he wants another fight, she'll gladly oblige him. When she hits him this time, it isn't like she's going to try and fight him - she doesn't prepare herself for any kind of retaliation. She simply hits him just because she's angry, she feels like she wants to, and because he deserves it. Her fist takes him square in the jaw, but how can she even act surprised when he returns the favor? She reels from the impact, and she's cut her lip on her teeth; she doesn't really notice it, but he can smell the blood. She looks like she hadn't expected it, and then she shouts at him. Not words, just an angry and frustrated noise, something that he chuckles out loud at before he's plunged to the ground from the weight of the Slayer's lunge. Bits of dry dirt and dead leaves from the graveyard ground finds its way onto their clothing as they fight, and it's a minute before Angelus has a chance to find his feet again. He grabs the Slayer from the ground as he stands, swinging her into a tall headstone before she can regain herself. She starts to fall again, her breath leaving her lungs in big strangled gasp, but he pins her back up before she can double over. A pause, one second, two, sharp inhale as she's finally able to suck in the wind that had been knocked out of her in one big gulp. He wraps his arms around either side of the stone, trapping her close, white teeth glinting in the moonlight as he gives her a wicked smile. He doesn't attack her again, just waits, her move. She glares, another pause. He's so close she can feel his breath ruffling her hair, almost as cool as the night air. Where is this going, she wonders? Nowhere, it never does. Whether it's a night where she is trapped or he is trapped, they always just fight or leave or both. He smells like dry leaves and crisp air. Too tight of a space to be able to push him away, and she can only manage an arm up. How could she let him this close again? She grips the back of his head, pulling his hair tight between her fingers. Before he can taunt her for this tactic, make some quip about hair-pulling, he realizes he's being pulled towards her - Her lithe fingers are strong and the motion determined, so he lets her draw him forward. Their lips meet in a hard kiss. She's angry and desperate and he can feel it in the grip she has in his hair, the rough press of her lips to his. He lets his tongue flick across the small wound on the inside of her lip, enjoying the coppery taste, her slight startled response at the realization that there's a small gash there. He bites gently, pressing teeth down until she makes a little noise of protest.

He hadn't thought that she might do this. Well, what a lovely surprise - and who was he to say no to the Slayer? He'd make her give every bit of herself to him all over again before he was through. This is like poetry, he thinks, him and the slayer, how he makes her fall apart. If she wanted a kiss, he would give her his best one, and send her home alone again.  
He lowers his arms, giving her room enough to find the nearby stone bench, and the push he gives her onto it is a little rough. She makes a noise of discomfort at the cold texture of the stone beneath her palms as she slides back. The force of Angelus' hands pulling at her jeans before she's even comfortable lifts her hips off of the bench for a second, and he only takes the fabric down to her ankles. When she watches him undo his belt and zipper, sees how ready he already is... She tries to remember her Angel. His hands at her thighs now, he enters her slowly, and she whispers that name, "Oh, Angel." Slowly in, slowly out, she feels like she might burst already from how wonderful it is, how warm and full and heavy it makes her feel. She lifts her hips eagerly each time, trying to encourage the pace. Each languid motion is like an invisible caress over her entire body, filling her up slowly like a cup, ready to spill over.  
"Slayer," he says huskily, managing to make the spiteful word sound like a lover's caress, and when he pulls out again he stops his easy motions. He rocks into her hard, difficult for the surface she's laying on - He'd started almost lovingly, only to stop so abruptly. He grips at her skin, rough motions forward, and if she wasn't the Slayer this might just hurt. As it were, the grit of the stone rubs against her bared waist, but still the only noises she makes are unmistakably positive. A small sound of discomfort mixes in with the other noises that pass her lips, discomfort at the hard stone beneath her. She wonders if maybe he is going this hard just to make her uncomfortable, but it doesn't really matter, because it feels so good anyway, and she swears to herself it's not like this will happen again. Harder and harder, so quick she can barely keep up with herself, each motion better than the last, melting into gasps and waves of pleasure. The hard stone is starting to scrape her skin, tender and becoming raw at the repeated motions. Just as she thinks she might have to tell him to stop, to throw him off, she slips right off the edge. She tenses, and her tightening around him is enough to pull him with her, the thought of her giving himself to him like this again, making her feel like no other person had. She shouts out loud, nearly shuddering with the intensity of it, and he can tell that this is a good one. He hadn't even brought her like this on their first night. A light brush against her neck, and then his teeth sink into her flesh. A small wave of panic mixes in with the last bursting waves of pleasure, but no, she thinks, he wouldn't drain her now - Anyway, it doesn't really hurt when he's still thrusting and her climax is only now starting to taper off. His grip at her thighs tightens suddenly, and he raises his head back, teeth bloodstained now. She hears his deep groan, can practically feel the strong waves of climax all over again, just from watching him experience it. She feels the warmth of his seed fill her, gasps at the last few slow, unpaced thrusts. She still feels fuzzy even as he withdraws himself, readjusts his clothing. His eyes admire his handiwork, her flushed cheeks, the two little bite wounds on her neck that she would have to cover up somehow to hide from public view until it healed. She slips her jeans back up, gingerly, the fabric brushing against her scraped skin. She's shaky, sated and suddenly stricken with a loss of what to say or do, but Angelus is already getting up, moving away. He gives her a soft stroke beneath her chin as she sits up on the bench, and she looks up at him, back into his eyes as he gazes into hers. A smile to match the caress. Angel's smile.  
"Don't make the game too easy, Slayer."  
And then he's gone.


End file.
